


Punctured Lungs

by millipii



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Age of Ultron, Age of Ultron spoilers, Angst, Fix-It, Fluff, Kind of AU, Marvel - Freeform, Other, Pain, Sadness, Slash, Stony - Freeform, h/c, pietro is mah baby, pietro maximoff - Freeform, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 02:53:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3879442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millipii/pseuds/millipii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he could just get the pain to come back, to make the feeling return to him, to pretend that he was out there dying, then the distraction would work.</p><p>Pietro thinks about life and death and everything in between, and vaguely notes that when he came back, there was something missing besides the blood and flesh and rags that he left behind. He vaguely notes that he shouldn't be alive, that the Avengers shouldn't have saved him, that he would've finally been reunited with his parents if only they'd let him leave.</p><p>If only.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> First Marvel fic, spoilers for Age of Ultron, and small side pairings of Natasha/Bruce and Steve/Tony.
> 
> Warning: slow updates, multi-chapter fic written by a lazy person... Some later chapters may be triggering to some (though there will be no actual self-harm, just potential suicidal thoughts)
> 
> Enjoy!

Pietro Maximoff didn't remember much about dying.

There were only certain places, certain moments that he could recall before everything went black and his mind turned to soup. The flash of blue that was his powers activating. The fear in Clint's eyes as he was shoved aside. The colourful crimson that stained Pietro's clothes.

Everything after that was a blur. The pain, the words, the world spinning and fading away at the edges. He distantly remembers someone calling his name (Wanda? he thinks before remembering that she's all the way on the other side of the city). Then Pietro remembers floating, remembers standing above his body and looking out into the vast blueness of the sky and staring down at the silver robots and remembers a huge red brightness before he remembers nothing at all.

Pietro doesn't know where he went after that. Clearly he wasn't dead, but he wasn't alive either. It was like he was floating in a soup of black nothingness, stuck tight to the edges and yet pulling away piece by piece.

And then there was a bright light, a beam that shone out from somewhere in the darkness. His name again, called softly and quietly, yet becoming more frantic and excited as the light grew brighter. He could feel his head pounding, could hear the blood rushing in his veins to his head as he was dragged painfully into reality. There was more after that, but Pietro was too tired to recall any of it. His time was spent in flashes of dark brown hair and cherry-coloured lips, worried faces and frown lines etched into faces of strangers. Bright white lab coats that almost hurt his eyes were always there, waiting for him.

The only sound he could hear was the pounding of his own head and the faint constant beeping of a machine. One day, amidst the clatter of his aimless thoughts and the glaring of the lab coats, Pietro could've sworn he heard voices. Straining his ears, he tried to tune out the beeping to listen.

"Wake up!"

"Don't rush him, miss, give him-"

"Time?" A dry chuckle and then a hiss. "With my brother's powers, he should be awake by now!" The voice gave a frustrated groan.

"He was shot about 15 times. Two to the head, one to the neck, and one was in his spinal cord, not including the bullets lodged in his organs. It's a miracle he's lived this long."

"American doctors don't know anything."

The voices faded out suddenly, leaving Pietro stunned. And then, with a burning intensity, he heard them grow to the point where they were screaming at him, yelling for him to wake up, to be alive, to just move something like a finger or his mouth or-

(and the beeping grows louder and more rapid and Pietro feels like something is dragging him down further into darkness-)

And the lab coat brightens and expands to show a face and a shoulder and a couple limbs and Pietro feels his body being crushed and squeezed around his waist-

(and the pain is dull at first but grows to an intensity not unlike fire-)

And suddenly Pietro is laying on a hospital bed with tubes going in and out of him, looking up at nine faces, some smiling, some twisted into expressions of sadness, other suprised.

He didn't recognise any of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merci! Comments would be lovely!


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thank you all for giving me kudos (I never expected this much feedback in only a few hours!) so I wrote another chapter! Hope you enjoy~

The faces stared blankly at him.

He stared blankly back.

Slowly it all came flooding back to him, memories unearthed from somewhere deep in his mind. He gazed around the room, slowly matching each face to it's name.

Thor. Hawkeye. Black Widow. Iron Man. Wanda.

Wanda, she was the one who had her arms wrapped around his waist tightly, tears dribbling from her eyes and plopping onto Pietro's bandages, which criss-crossed his body in all directions.

"Wanda," he croaked, voice scratchy from sleep. He could feel his eyelids already starting to droop closed, sliding together enclosing him in darkness. He could hear Wanda's voice above the others, could feel her hands pressing deeply into his body leaving burning hot imprints.

"Pietro!" she cried, shaking him back and forth. He couldn't respond, couldn't move, he just needed to sleep...

"Leave him be, Wanda, he'll wake up again soon." Clint's voice penetrated the darkness that Pietro was floating in, cutting through to his mind.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

He didn't sound so sure.

~~~

The familiar beeping of the hospital machine increasing its speed was what drove Pietro to wake up again. His dull blue eyes flickered over the empty room, searching for the Avengers.

"Hello?" he asked, quietly. His head was pounding so hard that he could feel the pain coursing through his entire body. Slowly groaning, Pietro sat up in the hospital bed and glanced down at his own body.

He was dressed in a flimsy light blue hospital gown with thick coarse bandages woven beneath, wound around his entire torso, neck, and arms. They were spotless, not a drop of red on them, leaving Pietro to wonder just how fast he had healed from the bullet wounds.

A pale yellow light hung above him, his intensity stinging his vision and bringing tears to his eyes. He hissed and looked away quickly.

Beside his bed was a small side table stacked with magazines, empty coffee cups, and strange black stains all over the surface. A larger table stood off to the right, holding various hospital equipment and papers stacked precariously in a messy pile.

Pietro swung his legs over the side of the bed, pausing when he felt blood rush to his head and a feeling of nausea slam into him. He doubled over in pain, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

Just as he was about to try to stand, a young man in a labcoat walked in carrying a clipboard. The stranger froze, mouth agape in awe.

"Mr. Maximoff... You're alive!" he stuttered, before turning on his heel and running out of the room, leaving Pietro in a stunned silence.

Was he really that close to death? He didn't know exactly how bad his injuries were, only that he had been asleep for a long time. He didn't even know how long. While he was pondering these thoughts, he caught a glimpse of another person entering his room. It was Wanda, Starbucks cup gripped tightly in her hand. She looked like she was about to cry.

"Pietro," she whispered, letting her cup crash to the floor. "You're alive! You're okay! You're... You're-" she broke off, letting tears fall down her face as she gripped Pietro tightly, burying her face in his overgrown hair.

Pietro let his arms slip around his sister, trying to ignore the sense of unease that was building up in his stomach.

"How long?" He said at last, voice breaking. "How long have I been gone?" Wanda pulled away, face contorted into an expression of sorrow. She shook her head sadly, her hair swaying around her shoulders gracefully. She was silent.

"Wanda, how long? Tell me!" He didn't realize he was shouting until she put a finger to her lips and motioned to the bed, telling him to sit down. He obliged, dread settling inside of him.

"Three months," she said at last, voice quiet and tinged with... Regret? He didn't care. Her words rung in his head, banging around and growing louder and louder until it was all he could hear, all he could see. He felt his body sink deeper into the sheets, trickles of tears streaming down his face.

Three months.

Three months of life that he missed.

Three months of pain, of being suspended in the nothingness of his mind, of being lost and empty.

Pietro felt a weight pressing behind his eyes, the headache from earlier returning as he sobbed quietly into his stale hospital mattress.

Three months of wasted effort on his lifeless body.

Three months of being useless, of holding everyone back.

He was practically dead. He was one thin thread away from dying, and yet they forced him to live, to exist on the Earth, to walk in the memory of dying over and over and over again (because surely, that was what would happen to Pietro).

Why couldn't they have just let him go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, plot will start soon!


	3. Three

After Wanda explained how his power helped speed up the healing process, Pietro was given a small room lodged in the far corner of the hospital and told to stay there for a couple weeks until his diagnostics and test results return. He curled up in the warm, plush blankets, wrapping himself tight and trying to drown out his mind. He had sent Wanda away, telling her that he was tired and just needed rest. Of course, more rest was the last thing he wanted.

Pietro huddled further under the sheets, grasping them tight with his hands until his knuckles turned white and the pounding of his head lessened enough for him to think straight.

They had saved him.

He was alive.

But why?

He was supposed to be the enemy, the one they feared, the one who would bring peace to the Earth and revenge on Tony Stark. And yet, somehow, they had kept him alive, shoving nutrients into his system and stuffing him full of medicine. He wasn't meant to live, at least that much he knew.

What's dead should stay dead.

There was, Pietro noted, nothing stopping him from ending it right then and there except for the fact that he'd just heal again and they'd force him onto the machine again, pumping the liquids in and out and poking him again and again with their needles. It was a fact, he thought, that they were weak and too attached to meaningless things like life.

The door to his room swung open with a groan of protest from it's hinges. Wanda's face peeked out form behind it, smiling sheepishly with her eyes almost glowing in the dim light. She slowly stepped in, hesitating and hovering by the door for a brief moment after seeing Pietro curled up in his blanket-burrito before walking onwards and plopping down on the bed.

"Hey," she said softly, untangling the blankets and prying them from his grasp. "Are you okay? I mean, you haven't really spoke much..." Wanda twirled a strand of her hair between her fingers, a habit that she picked up while working for HYDRA. She surveyed Pietro's face carefully, eyes searching for any indication that he wasn't alright.

"I'm fine," he said cooly, staring emotionlessly at her. She winced. Even to him, his own voice sounded harsh and distant. Deep within his mind, he fought the urge to throw up. Since when had he lied to Wanda? Since when has he spoken so icily to his own sister? "I'm fine," he repeated, trying to sound more normal. "Honestly."

"Okay," Wanda said, sighing and running a hand through her hair absentmindedly. The hurt was evident in her voice, her face crumpled into a weary expression. "I'll just leave you to yourself then." She stood, brushed herself off, and walked out the door, only pausing to look back at Pietro once more before disappearing from his view. Once she was gone, Pietro buried himself in his blanket again, immersing himself in the task of counting the number of stitches on the hem of his sheets.

One...

He had offended Wanda, that much he could be certain of.

Two...

Even he could tell that something was a bit off.

Three...

And yet-

Four...

He couldn't bring himself to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was so short, I just needed to set the premise for the next chapter!
> 
> Ps: I love comments! :)


	4. Four

_It was times like these that Pietro wished he was gone._

_The pool of bedsheets and pillows around him were drenched in sweat, the fabric wrapping around his ankles, trapping him. He tried to call out, but the folds of the night were choking him. It felt like someone had shoved their hand down his throat and_ squeezed.

So this is what death feels like,  _he thought, watching with wide eyes as a trail of blood flowed quietly from the trenches of his collarbone and spilled onto the table below. Pietro couldn't hear, couldn't feel, couldn't see where he was; the cloth binding him was too thick and too suffocating. His vision flashed a bright blue, shouting and screams ringing out in his ears before everything went black and the sheets fell away._

"Patient 0125, are you there? Patient 0125 can you hear me?"

_He could feel his body slipping away, separating from his mind. His clothes hung from his shattered frame, awkward and limp and soaked with blood. Every single one of his muscles were tense and unrelenting as he squeezed his eyes shut, jaw clenched tight and fingers pressing hot white half-moons into his palms. Echoes and whispers floated around him, small shots of the world circling outside of his cell._

_Pietro could feel the presence of another person being placed on the table next to him, her body squirming and banging against the cool metallic surface. She cried out, a scream that was soon silenced by a lingering shadow pressing a needle into their neck. The woman went limp, sagging onto the table and letting a sob escape her lips before the drug took over and she lay completely still._

"No luck with this one,"  _a voice recited calmly. "_ Just as useless as the rest of the lot."  _Pietro struggled as the man to which the voice belonged to thrust another pain-inducing syringe into his flesh, making his skin crawl and his eyes roll back into his head. The pain was numb this time, dancing in his legs and piercing his head, drawing a muffled cry of anguish and causing his fingernails pressing into his hands to draw blood. It oozed down his wrist, thick and hot and a deep crimson red._

"HYDRA needs the very, very best," _the man said calmly, twirling a scalpel in his gloved hands. He carefully began carving out chunks of Pietro's skin, slowly and methodically._ "And that would be you."

_Pietro screamed._

_~~~_

"Hey!"

The sharp female voice drew Pietro out of his nightmare and into reality. He inhaled a sharp breath, eyes roaming the room frantically searching for any trace of the dreaded room, the room in which he was kept for over sixteen years of his life.

"Hey, are you all right?" He looked to his right, hands clenched into fists before relaxing when he spotted a red haired woman sitting on the chair next to his bed, her face contorted into a concerned expression. He was brought back to the day he woke up, the day when he was brought into the world as a cold and harsh reminder of his existence. The woman was one of the people standing over his hospital bed.

His mind was still a bit scrambled, his head pounding from the events of his dream. The woman was looking at him strangely, her eyes watering slightly as they swept over his trembling body.

"I'm known as Black Widow, though I suppose you knew that already. But you can call me Natasha Romanoff," she stated, voice even and cool. His eyes widened at the statement, a question forming in his head.

"You are Russian?" he asked, partly because he was curious and partly because he knew that half of the people from his homeland were connected to HYDRA. Natasha forced a smile, letting the corners of her mouth twitch upwards at the question.

"Yes," she said simply. "I lived in Russia as a child. It is where I grew up." Something about her guarded tone warned him not to press any further. "But I'm not with HYDRA, Pietro. No need to worry." He didn't have the chance to say anything else before she continued. "So, how's the whole waking-up-from-a-coma thing going for you? Not well, I presume?"

Pietro nodded slightly, not saying a word.

"You're dreaming about it," Natasha said quietly. His head jerked upwards, facing her completely. Their eyes met and he could swear there was a trace of sadness in her expression before she cleared her throat and it was washed away.

"Yes," he told her hoarsely, running a hand through his hair tiredly.

"I did too," she told him, voice soothing and accepting. He briefly wondered how many people she'd practiced this speech on, who else she'd used these same words to comfort. "I was... Upset. At first. You just have to stay calm, to focus on the world around you. Remember that the dreams- well, they're only dreams. You see, I was once like you. Different job, different position, but same nonetheless." Natasha leaned forward, hair swaying to the side. "And I know that it's hard. I do. But I'm here to tell you that it..." she trailed off.

Pietro felt anger growing beneath his skin, red hot and making his muscles tense with adrenaline. How could she ever know how he felt? How could she, a hero, a woman perfect in her own right, ever expect to feel even close to the amount of pain he has felt? How could she ever tell him to stay calm and forget? He knew the drill, Natasha would tell him that things would get better, that he would be okay, that the world would slowly bleed into his mind and make him suddenly forget the past. She would be just like his sister, just like his caretaker, just another liar.

"I can't lie to you, Pietro."

He wasn't expecting that.

Natasha's voice suddenly took on a sullen and more serious tone.

"I can't tell you everything will get better because it won't. You'll just live your life, day after day, with no change. And yes, sure, maybe you'll get happier, maybe you'll find love or have a good day or live a normal life, but deep down," Natasha's voice wavered for a second, her eyes slowly grinding into Pietro's skull. "Deep down there will always be the memory. You'll always have the feeling of the past." She stopped speaking to stand up, smoothing out her shirt. Pietro's eyes traced her body as she quietly slipped out of the room, only pausing to flick the lights back off.

"There are monsters in your closet, Pietro, and they aren't going to leave. Ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments would be amazing!
> 
> Also if you have an idea on who I could possibly ship Pietro with, then please tell me. Fic recs would also be lovely (I'm in desperate need of more Pietro...)
> 
> Sorry for short chapters! More coming!
> 
> Also: really great fic by my friend AGhostStory called Bet You Didn't See That Coming! It is amazing, and you should check it out! https://archiveofourown.org/works/3853570


End file.
